


New Golden Age

by yanatya



Category: West Wing
Genre: F/M, M/M, PWP, Standalone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-16
Updated: 2006-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanatya/pseuds/yanatya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh and Donna, with a side of Bram. Written for kiss_me_cassie, who wanted Josh/Donna/Bram with mention of an elevator and Bram's fangirls.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Golden Age

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through Season 7. Includes some M/M speculation.

"Oh my god," he wheezed as she slumped on top of him, finally, completely, amazingly, luxuriously spent. "You are so fantastic at this."

He pulled her closer and she slid her heated, damp limbs over his exhaustively pleasured body. The feel of her was amazing--even this after-sex time was indescribably hot, as she slipped her soft, sensual weight onto him, the very act of having her lie on him, naked skin rubbing naked skin, a forbidden erotic pleasure.

Except it wasn't forbidden, not anymore, and now he was going to take her mouth again, because her succulent-sweet taste burned him every time.

She just smiled against his lips and went to him.

Never in his life had it been like this. She was hot, sensual, loving, generous, and incredibly flexible. Also, not shy. But it was all her, all Donna, all blended together, so that you didn't realize, didn't even think to notice that she'd twisted you both into knots, until she pulled that spectacular mouth away from you and treated you to an orgasm the likes of which would make angels weep.

And then she'd come too, unrestrained, swooning and collapsing into his arms with real physical incapacity, and he felt like a hero, her hero, because he was there to catch her.

And then she'd slide over, covering his body, and would give yet again with that generous mouth of hers, and all he could do was sink into her and hope she never gave him up.

And then eventually, because she was Donna, after all, not some mystic houri, she'd get up to pee. And come back to bed, and snuggle like the Wisconsin farm girl he'd always known she was, and everything would be utterly right and completely normal. Naked, but normal. And then later, she'd pester him about something and steal his food and even that was amazing, because when she did it, she made him feel as though he were the only person in the world who could give her the things she was asking for.

Josh was aware that he had it bad, and he didn't give a damn.

After she came back from the bathroom and snuggled in to him, they started to talk. In spite of the never-before-in-this-lifetime fantastic sex, he reflected that the talking was always what he wanted from her most. He'd had that from the beginning, and he hadn't fucking appreciated it until it was far too late. Thank god they'd managed to start again.

Tonight, she was talking about Bram, and though he couldn't give a damn one way or another about Bram, he was listening.

"He's got groupies," she said.

He made a show of yawning. "Big deal."

"Yes," she said, rolling her eyes. "I realize this is nothing special for you. But he's not like you."

"Not everyone can handle the cost of fame, Donna."

"You're so right," she replied, dry as the Sahara. "A bunch of them ambushed him in the elevator and handcuffed him to the chair rail."

"What!?"

"I thought that would get your attention."

He didn't relax. "That's not funny. That's..."

"I know," she said. "They just took him for a ride, and let him out on the top floor."

"Thank god," Josh muttered. "Because I couldn't take a 'going down' joke right now."

"He's playing it off, because he realizes it was just a college-girl prank, meant in fun--"

"Aren't college girls a little young for him?"

She shot him an old-fashioned look and he realized what he'd just said. "I'm getting old," he mumbled.

Thankfully, she didn't acknowledge that admission. Maybe there were hidden additional benefits to sleeping with her. Instead, she continued, "But he needs to revamp his image."

"He has an image?"

She slid a hand across Josh's nipple and he squirmed. "For some reason," she went on as though she hadn't heard, "the girls seem to see a cute, sensitive, bottom."

"I'll leave you to make that call, because if I start staring at his bottom--"

She pinched him. "Not bottom," she said, "_Bottom_."

Understanding came to him. "Ah." It bore repeating. "Ah."

"So I was wondering if he should talk to Sam," she said. "Sam might be able to share some pointers."

Josh frowned. "Sam's not a bottom--"

"Precisely."

He blinked. "I'm not even going to speculate on how you know that."

"Likewise."

He took a moment to collect his thoughts, which had just scattered to the far reaches of implausibility. When he recovered, he said, "And you think Sam might be able to help Bram--oh god--shake his 'bottom' image."

She stifled a snort of laughter.

"Shut up," he told her.

"Well, Sam did manage to dodge that pretty well, once he stopped hanging out with you every second of the day."

"I am the alpha male in any room. Ow!" He rubbed his shoulder, but didn't complain because she put her mouth on his skin to make up for it. "So," he said, trying not to sound aroused all over again, "you want me to stay away from Bram?"

She stopped what she was doing. "Not you. Otto."

"Otto?!" He struggled to sit up, but she pushed him back down and settled more firmly on top of him. Her thigh brushing his groin was extra incentive. "Otto?" he said in a quieter, albeit rather strangled tone. He gestured with his hand. "Little Otto?"

"Little Otto can be pretty assertive."

"That's why I hired him. What the hell?"

"I think they work together so much that the groupies, they're getting a little vibe."

He slumped back. "A little vibe. Out of consideration for all parties involved, can we not use the word 'little' anymore in this conversation?"

"You know what I mean. And it would be best for Bram if he were not being perceived as--"

"You really, really don't want to finish that sentence."

"I don't," she agreed. "But a man who gets chased and handcuffed by a bunch of schoolgirls--"

"Is extremely lucky. I'm not so old I don't remember that."

She didn't smack him again, but when she was finished with him he was definitely uncomfortable. "No," she said, pleased as she looked down at her handiwork. "Not that old at all."

He flung out his hand, making a grab for the box he'd left on the nightstand, because another minute or two of her torture was going to leave him with the restraint of a thirteen-year-old.

She reached it first, leaning across him, her nipple brushing his nose. He noted with satisfaction that she almost dropped everything when he pulled her breast into his mouth. The way she writhed on top of him nearly drove him insane with lust, too, so he arbitrarily decided the conversation was over.

Sliding his hands down over her back and the curve of her ass, he found her sex and slid two fingers inside. She clenched around him in a reflexive welcome, and he remembered once more how lucky he was to be there. As he continued to work on her breasts with his mouth and her sex with his fingers, she began to quake. Fragile, shaking with pleasure, she gave a sharp little cry as she broke apart above him.

But she recovered quickly enough, extracting a condom for him and then sinking slowly onto him. She laid down on him then, and he welcomed the contact of her skin against his, the proximity of her mouth, and now that he was in her hot, tight darkness, he stayed.

As far as he was concerned, they made love like that for hours. It was her nearness, her warmth, her long wet kisses, that made it timeless. They rocked together, nudging, pleasuring, and if she occasionally shifted them a bit, redistributing their weight, he didn't realize until the next day that neither of them had cramped up during their prolonged union.

When it was finally over, when she'd come to several small, mewling climaxes and he had imploded in a long, silently thunderous wave, he rolled her onto her side and spooned against her sleeping body, then fell asleep himself.

"About Bram," she said later, when they were awake again, had showered together, slippery and soapy and wet, and were finally getting dressed.

He should have known she'd just try another tack.

"You know kids his age," she continued, ignoring the fact that he was rolling his eyes. "They have a few one-night stands, a bit of success on the bar scene, and think they have all their moves. They don't know."

He couldn't help his half-smirk. "Not at that age, they don't," he agreed, ignoring the patiently amused look she shot him. "So what's the solution? Because I am not sitting him down for a man-to-man chat. There's not enough alcohol in the world."

"Well, I thought Sam," she said.

"Sam is definitely not up for the man-to-man chat. And remind me to tell him he owes me for putting you off that idea."

She hmmphed.

"It isn't a big problem, is it?" Josh asked. "He's got to figure some of this stuff out for himself."

"Were you planning on hiring him after the election?"

"Yeah. He's good."

"Otto, too?"

"Yeah."

"Then it would be best if one of them didn't look like a wimp next to the other."

"Ah, the Sam connection," he said, realization dawning.

"Exactly. Put the two of you in the room, and people think they know who's the good cop and who's the bad cop."

"When in fact, we're both bad cops."

"The worst," she agreed.

"Can we do that?" he said, suddenly struck by a thought. "You and me, tag-team the bad guys? Because when we go in there, people will definitely think I'm the bad cop."

His unspoken implication made her smile gloriously, and he made a note of it for future reference.

"And they'll think I am--" she said leadingly.

"The cute, perky, young rookie who won't last a second on the force without me there to protect you."

She blinked. "Are you referring to the advancement of our legislative agenda, or are you talking about tonight? Because I have handcuffs."

Suddenly his throat was dry. "The agenda thing," he croaked. "But keep the handcuffs around."

Grinning, she said, "Right. Now, back to the subject--"

"Can I do a strip-search?"

"Only with probable cause," she replied. "Now, about Bram--"

"Oh, god."

"There's no way he should have let those girls handcuff him; they were just out for some fun."

"On that, we're agreed."

"He was being too nice," Donna said. "Or he's buying into the idea that girls chasing him is automatically a good thing."

"Empirically speaking--"

"Or both," she continued, ignoring him. "Which means someone needs to explain this to him." She looked thoughtful. "Or show him."

Realization began to dawn. "Oh, no. You are not fixing him up with someone--"

"Amy's not seeing anyone," she said, utterly failing to flutter her eyelashes in a naïve, farm-girl-esque way.

"Hell no. Amy's so far out of his league as to be in another...another sport, really. He couldn't hack it, and there's no reason in the world why she would want to take him on."

"He's endearing, in a freshman sort of way."

"She's immune to charm," he said flatly. "Also, she'd punish either one of us painfully for suggesting it. Plus she's doing some important stuff right now, and she doesn't need the distraction."

"We need to do something," she said. "He's just too nice."

"That'll get beaten out of him real quick on the Hill."

"Yes, but it could be fatal. Not everyone is as tough as you." She sidled over to him and he found he absolutely didn't care that she was flattering him blatantly.

"That's true," he said.

"Well..." She slid a hand over his chest and under his half-buttoned shirt. "We could show him how it's done. Ow!"

He tried to release his sudden grip on her wrist. "Sorry." He kissed where he'd grasped her. "I'm not sharing you with anyone."

Her face melted into a smile, and he kissed her mouth, hoping again to make up for his reaction.

"That's so sweet," she said when they came up for air. "I don't want to share you either, not like that. Though you're really hot, and I bet Bram works out, so the two of you..."

"No."

"But you'd be so hot," she coaxed, teasing. "You'd be like the apotheosis of gay porn, and I'd have a front-row seat."

"You're not allowed to say the word 'apotheosis' if you're going to connect me and gay porn in the same sentence," he lied.

"It was just a thought."

"I never thought of you as someone who'd like to watch."

She slipped an arm around his neck. "Well," she purred. "I would be watching, but I wouldn't just be watching, if you get what I mean."

His mouth went dry again. "Really?"

"Really," she murmured, putting her mouth next to his ear. "I'd be naked, of course."

"Of course," he croaked.

"And I wouldn't be far away. I'd just sit, maybe in that chair there, and watch you."

"Just watch?"

"And touch myself," she went on. "Just gently. One hand for my breast and one for my pussy."

"Ohgod."

"I'd stroke myself." Her voice dropped, low and sultry. "Just a little. But you'd be able to smell me."

"Really?" he squeaked.

"Yes," she whispered, her hands moving on him, her breath hot in his ear. "And I'd be able to watch you, your hot, muscular body, straining with his. Watch you bring him to the point of begging, giving him a taste of real power and then tearing it away. See what he looks like when he's at your mercy, when he finally realizes that there's more to it than fun, more than seduction, more than gratification. That you own him, that you're the only one who can give him what he needs, that you are the most powerful man in the room. And when he collapses, spent, finally understanding that it's you..."

She stopped.

"What?" he asked hoarsely. "What then?"

"Then you come to me," she murmured, looking up at him from under her lashes. "I'll be ready. I'll be your reward. Willing and naked and wet from seeing what you've done to him, wanting you to show me what you showed him, craving your big, hard, strong--"

It was embarrassing, but only to be expected that he'd need to change his pants by the time she finished talking.

When they were finally ready to leave--and he knew he was going to pay for his lack of sleep before the end of the day--he gave her the key and let her lead the way.

"We're not that late," she observed, already switching over to professional mode as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. "We'll catch up in a cab."

"Hey," he said, attempting to look nonchalant. "Sam's coming, you know."

  
END  



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